The Little Things

The sound of rain on the roof of a tent, or pitter-pattering against a windowpane at night. Feeling safely tucked away from the storms, smiling at the raindrops and the wild winds.

Sneaking a look at the last page of a book before you start reading it.

Walking home in your stocking soles after too much to drink, birds chirping and the sun beginning to break through the navy blue sky, and knowing that you’ll soon be asleep as the rest of the world comes to life.

Falling asleep in front of the television on a weekday afternoon, when you’re in that surreal in-between state, not quite asleep, not quite awake. Familiar voices talking about property values and antique collectibles sound like they’re a million miles away.

Taking your socks off in bed after you’ve got all cosy and warm.

When you listen to an old song and it reminds you of a person or a place or a time or a thing. The Shins, 2006: painting my bedroom on summer afternoons and counting the minutes until it was time to catch the bus to see you.

Waking up in your favourite city in the world and feeling so lucky, lucky, lucky because you can call it home.

When you’re on a bus and no one sits next to you. Or anywhere near you. Or on the bus at all.

Seeing the moon when it’s still daylight outside and letting your mind wander towards magic and sorcery and voodoo and hoodoo. Knowing it’s not real, but pretending it is. Just a little bit.

The smell of rain in the summer when it sizzles on the tarmac and dampens piles of grass cuttings. Nostalgic and comforting, even though it happens nearly every week.

Your favourite word. Glamour (n): a magic spell; enchantment. From the old Scots gramarye: scholarship; occult learning; magic. Archaic term, popularised by the works of Sir Walter Scott. The phrase “to cast the glamour”, meaning a bewitching spell used to deceive.